


this love has taken it's toll on me

by lshtar



Category: All For The Game - Nora Sakavic
Genre: Gen, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-06-22
Updated: 2017-06-22
Packaged: 2018-11-17 04:15:51
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,171
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11267742
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lshtar/pseuds/lshtar
Summary: Dumping his bag, Andrew brushes past Aaron to grab his ice cream out of the fridge, only once he turns the lights on and can properly see the entryway, there are streamers all over the place?Curling up his lip in mild disgust, venturing further into the dining room—flicking switches as he goes. “For fuck's sake,” Aaron scoffs from behind him, because sitting at the table, head on his elbows passed out is Nicky. He's got a truly awful looking cake in-front of him, and the candles on it are all unlit. There are two bright boxes with tacky bows on top of them, and Andrew watches Aaron squint in confusion. “It isn't your birthday, is it?”“Dumbass, we have the same birthday.”





	this love has taken it's toll on me

He's been living with Erik for three months when his mom calls to check if he is still gay, and to tell him Tilda is dead. If Nicky is being honest with himself, he doesn't really care that she's dead. He knows Aaron will though, so he gets off the phone and uses his savings, that he set aside for a ring, on a flight to Columbia. It isn't until he has landed, checked into his hotel and is Face-timing Erik that he panics. Nicky knew his parents would be at the house, but as soon as Erik asks “Are you ready to see them tomorrow?” Nicky almost pukes.

  
The rest of the phone call is tense. Erik trying to rework his schedule to let him catch an overnight flight, and Nicky insisting not to. He wins only because of how busy Erik actually is, but he's glad Erik won't have to listen to his parents' snide comments.

  
Standing on the stoop the day after the funeral, Nicky's hands sweat. Shaking so bad, he pushes the doorbell several times before it's strong enough to register and ring. He feels rather like a salesman, a few moments passing, then finally the door opens. A shock of light hair and bruised face greets him with a bored stare. Nicky snorts, “Warmer hello, than I expected.”

  
Andrew smirks. “I'm Nicky, and guessing you're Andrew. No way in hell you're Aaron.”

  
“So confident, and here everyone's been telling me, we're identical.”

  
“There's no way Aaron wouldn't have hit me by now,” _or hugged me_ , he adds silently. It's always hard to tell with his cousin.“I haven't called him in a while.”

  
Shuffling over to let Nicky in, Andrew chuckles. “I may hit you yet, but I'm not Aaron.”

  
Nicky rolls his eyes. “Any clue where my dad is? I need to speak to him.”

  
Andrew visibly bristles, “Luther was in the kitchen, last I saw.”

  
“Best get this over with,” Nicky mutters.

  
Giving Andrew a nod, he stalks off. Hurrying himself into the kitchen, before he can lose his nerve. Standing at the counter, making small talk with guests, is his father. Nicky gets within an arm's length, before Luther even notices him. “Hey dad, can we talk?”

  
“Privately? Nicholas, this is hardly the time for one of your outbursts.”

  
Steadying himself, he continues, “Yes, privately. It's not about that though, I want to talk about Aaron and Andrew.”

  
Whatever Luther had thought he was here to discuss, the shock on his face made apparent he hadn't expected this. Crushing his lips into a firm, bloodless line, he nodded. “I'll meet you in my study in a moment.”

* * *

Sipping on his scotch, Luther sighs, “You have my attention, Nicholas. What do you have to say?”

  
Wiping his palms on his pants, “I was hoping for visitation. I know that mom and you don't want to see me. And that's, well, that ship has sailed. But, I want to see the boys, I want to be able to call them and vis--”

  
“I am going to stop you there, that isn't a possibility.”

  
“What about letters, or—or emails?” Nicky croaks, throat tightening by the minute.

  
_'He won't let me see them. He won't let me see them. He won't let me see them. He won't le--'_ “It isn't possible, because your mother and I won't be keeping them.”

  
“...w...what?”

  
“I don't expect you to fully understand, you live an alternative lifestyle yourself, but those boys th---”

  
“They what, dad?! This makes no fucking sense.”

  
“Trouble, Nicholas. They're problem children. Aaron, I don't know how Tilda managed him, but he's an addict and disrespectful. And Andrew?!” Voice growing with each word, “Andrew, has been in juvie. In more foster homes than I could say, he needs help. Your mother and I will be sending them to a facility. Where they will have access to all the things, children like them require.”

  
Nicky was going to puke; a facility, their mom just died. “No.”

  
Ice cubes clattering as Luther set his glass down, “Son, you may not live here, but you will no-- ”

  
“I said ' _no_ ,' dad. I don't care, get whatever paperwork together you have to. I'll deal with them, they aren't going to a facility. Their mom just died, you're not shipping my cousins off.”

  
Honestly, he doesn't know what he thought his dad was going to say, but when Luther starts to laugh, Nicky is still surprised. “Nicholas, stop the theatrics,” he says, wiping tears from his eyes. “You're twenty years old, you don't even have a home here or a job. You live in Germany, and you said it yourself 'their mom just died,' you can't just up and move them to a country where they don't even know the language or anyone.”

  
Readjusting his tie, Luther starts to leave...and then he whirls around. Looking more shocked than, Nicky can remember ever witnessing. There is broken glass all over the carpet, and Luther's scotch glass has been shattered against the wall beside his head, and all the files and picture frames from his desk are at Nicky's feet. _'Oh....shit.'_ Nicky has thrown his dad's glass at him, and up ended his entire work desk. Staring uncomprehendingly at the glass, before snorting, _'too late, what's done is done. At least he is listening to me now.'_ “I said, get whatever paperwork together you have to. I'll deal with them, they aren't going to a facility. Now, while you're doing that, I am going to go ask my cousins if they want to stay at the hotel with me tonight. And tomorrow, I'll come and pick up whatever shit I need to. And we will be out of your hair.”

  
Luther had never looked this confused, even when Nicky had came out. Shoving past him, making no effort not to knock their shoulders together, Nicky pushed out of the den, into the hallway towards his old bedroom, and face-first into identical amused and surprised faces.

  
_“What even was th--”_ Aaron started.

  
_“What if I don't want to live with you?”_ Aaron shot a dark look at Andrew.

  
“Then you want to stay with Luther and Maria, Andrew? I'm going with Nicky, you're free to stay though.”

  
Calculating eyes stared into Nicky's, until he finally answered. “I don't care if you want to stay with my parents, you're not staying here.” Andrew's face soured, but Nicky pressed on, “You don't have to stay with me if you don't want to, but they're shipping you out to some facility, as soon as they have the chance. And I'm not letting that happen if I can do anything about it.”

  
A pale hand reached out to grasp at his sweater, and Nicky resolutely didn't stare at Aaron's exposed track marks. “...where are we gonna go, Nicky?”

  
Nicky let out a startled laugh, and tucked a hand gently in his hair. “I don't have a goddamned clue A, but I'm sure between the three of us we can figure it out.”

  
And then he promptly turned, walked into the bathroom and vomited into the sink. “...did he really just make all the arrangements to become our guardian and then throw up?”

  
Nicky didn't know Andrew well enough to tell yet, but he sounded genuinely amused.

* * *

 He's been living with Nicky for about a month, and all he really can say for sure about Nicky is he's patient, gay, annoying and the biggest idiot Andrew has ever met. They lived in the hotel for almost a week before all the paperwork was in order and Nicky could access Tilda's life insurance policy. Buying a house in Columbia, furnishing it, taking him shopping, and then shopping for Aaron who was still insistent on being a drugged up brat most days and rarely wanted to go out in the daytime. Nicky had a hell of a time getting him to school half of the time, and didn't seem to even try the other half.

  
He also never left Andrew alone, if Andrew was at school Nicky sent him texts, if Nicky was at work, he called the house phone and left obnoxious voicemails. It is exhausting to watch, Andrew can't wait to see how long it is before he gives up. It's interesting to see how much Nicky has thrown himself into this guardian thing, but Andrew knows he'll tire at some point. That's why partway through Wednesday at school when he checks his phone and sees no messages, he is relieved. Finally, Nicky is done.

  
Aaron and him get home that night later than usual, but Nicky hasn't harassed them so neither are in a rush. Nicky is probably already on a plane back to Germany, so why hurry?

  
Dumping his bag, Andrew brushes past Aaron to grab his ice cream out of the fridge, only once he turns the lights on and can properly see the entryway, there are streamers all over the place?

  
Curling up his lip in mild disgust, venturing further into the dining room—flicking switches as he goes. “For fuck's sake,” Aaron scoffs from behind him, because sitting at the table, head on his elbows passed out is Nicky. He's got a truly awful looking cake in-front of him, and the candles on it are all unlit. There are two bright boxes with tacky bows on top of them, and Andrew watches Aaron squint in confusion. “It isn't your birthday, is it?”

  
“Dumbass, we have the same birthday.”

  
Aaron stomps over to the table, and starts shredding at the box that has his name on it. It's a mess of tissue paper, and it looks like Nicky wrapped it himself because it has entirely too much tape, but Aaron gets it open eventually. It's a soft black Henley, white script across the back, and Aaron looks far too offended by an article of clothing. “...'cause we're a team, now,” drawls a groggy voice.

  
Andrew grabs his, tucking it under his arm. “You gon' open yours out here or take it to your room 'drew?”

  
Grunting out a “don't call me, 'Drew,'” Andrew went up the stairs.

  
Tossing the box on his bed, he opened his window and lit a smoke. Noises from Aaron and Nicky talking downstairs drifted up, and then the sound of Nicky leaving for work at the club. Grumbling, he started tearing at the gift. Nicky seemed to have wrapped them differently, probably knowing if he pushed too far, Andrew would just light it on fire. Unfurling the sweater, Andrew resisted the urge to stab Nicky, his cousin had a death wish. There, across the back of the shoulders in white block letters was 'Twinyarding,' scoffing and tossing it across the room, Andrew stubbed out his smoke. Lighting another cigarette, Andrew tried not to think about Nicky's sleepy "because we're a team now," he'd give up at some point, he had to. This was getting pathetic.

* * *

Nicky accidentally calls them 'his kids' one day while they're out for breakfast, mouth moving a mile a minute. This morning's tangent is about how they need to try to communicate more, even if it's just letting him know where they are, "I call your cell phones for a reason, I need to at least know you haven't wound up in a ditch."

  
Aaron scrapes his knife against his plate, sawing through his omelet, making an awful sound, but doesn't offer a reply. Never seeming to need an active participant to have a conversation, Nicky barrels along. "What would Erik say if I misplaced my kids? It's bad enough I buy cigarettes for you two."

  
Flashing a grin over his shoulder, as he hands the waitress over his card, he continues on. "Just like text back, if you're coming back to the house or not, or just pick up when I call--if you don't want to text."

  
Silence sits for a second, while Nicky is shuffling with his wallet, absent-mindlessly rearranging which picture of him and Erik is in front this week. "I wasn't aware you had kids, Nicky," Aaron sneers. "Is that where you disappeared to that time?"

  
Nicky drops his wallet, scattering change on the table. Glancing up from his milkshake, now they have Andrew's attention. Nicky is usually so boring, it had taken barely ten minutes upon meeting him, to gauge him as the lowest risk Andrew has ever encountered. And so frustratingly ordinary...but maybe not?

  
The muscles under his jaw seeming to tighten and release, as he takes a couple ragged breaths. Before he starts collecting the coins, tucking them back inside his wallet, "Your birthdays aren't until November, and you will only be turning seventeen. You're still kids."

  
Andrew stares at him, "But we aren't your kids. You're just here until we graduate."

  
Nicky looks at him for a moment, face easing into something small and tired. "I am here until you don't need me here, Andrew. Legally that is when you graduate, but I will stay until you tell me to go."

  
"All you want to do is go back to Erik, don't pretend you'll choose us over him," Aaron snarks.

  
Huffing a breath in what might be disbelief, Nicky shuffles out of the booth. "I already did."

  
The drive home is wordless, Nicky not even answering Aaron's “I'm going out tonight,” with his usual “call if you need to.” Instead just locking eyes in the mirror quickly, and then returning his attention to the road. When they get back to the house, Nicky locks himself in the bathroom and showers for over two hours.

* * *

Rain drizzled softly against the living room windows. Water droplets illuminated solely by the light from the kitchen, leaching around the fridge door as Andrew carelessly searched for the god knows what. Chapped hands knocking stray cans over, and if Andrew had actually been hurrying, Nicky probably would have tried to be sympathetic. Instead, lethargic fingers feel blindly around for a carton.

  
Fingers scrubbing red trails into his scalp, Nicky resists the urge to yell. The bright numbers on the stove blink 4:07 AM at him smugly, smarting at his migraine. “Andrew, do I even want to know?”

  
Offended hazel eyes abruptly turn to glare at him. Eyebrows cutting a pronounced furrow into Andrew's face. It's too early on a Sunday for this level of nonsense. “Okay, whatever. Move over,” flicking his wrist to shoo his cousin out of the way.

  
Nicky tosses a cursory glance at the mess of blueberries, strawberries and ice cubes sitting in the blender. “...so, you're trying to make a smoothie?” Andrew visibly wrinkles, but offers nothing more than a one shoulder shrug. “Right, okay, well I'd left a couple recipes on the counter for Aaron a while ago, so the ingredient list should be here somewhere.”

  
A crumpled paper is forced into his line of vision, and Nicky gives up on Andrew even pretending to participate in this conversation. Swiping at his forehead, and fighting the urge to climb back into bed without dealing with whatever weird mood swing is going on. Nicky pulls the orange juice and yogurt out of the fridge. “You measured out the berries, right? Or did you just dump a bunch into the blender, Andrew?”

  
His cousin worries at his bottom, bunching his sweater paws up to cover his fingers, and stares at him with confusion. Stifling a wet cough in his elbow, Nicky tugs up his sleeves. “Alright, okay, whatever for future notice there's three ways to make a smoothie; the proper way, the wrong way, and the Hemmick way.”

  
Andrew gurgles something that originally might have been a laugh, “So the Hemmick way is just another wrong way of doing something.”

  
“Andrew Joseph did you just make a joke? I'm almost impressed, I should call Erik, or at least wake up Aaron. If he had been sleeping more consistently, I would.”

  
Black sweater paws dart out as if to hit him, then halt and fall back to Andrew's sides. _'Huh, even Andrew is too tired at 4AM to be too fussy,'_ “In the name of honesty, this won't taste as good as it would have if you'd measured the berries out, but hopefully it won't matter. I pour, you dump? Capiche?”

  
Sloshing liquid into a measuring cup and shoving it blindly in Andrew's direction. Cold hands steal it silently. Pouring it into the Ninja quietly, and then pushing it back into Nicky's sweaty fingers. “Yogurt now,” croaks Andrew, voice rough from smoking, or yelling or vomiting, Nicky doesn't even try to figure out.

  
Yogurt spilling on the counter as he carelessly dumps it into the cup. _'Just get this fucking smoothie sorted, then try and get Andrew to bed...or his room at least, and then back to bed.'_ “Here, done. Pop the lid in and blend this shit up,” Nicky smiles.

  
Andrew empties the yogurt into the blender, and then comes to a complete stop. Throat sore and scratchy, and patience scraping thin, Nicky groans. “What now, dude, it is 4AM, can we please just make your goddamned smoothie and go back to bed?? I don't know why you chose this early on a Sunday, to try and eat healthy. But, commit already, blend it up.”

  
Andrew frowns, then glances at the stairs across the room, that lead up to the bedrooms, “Might wake up A--”

  
“Honestly, Aaron sleeps like the dead, you're the one who wakes up at any fucking noise. Also, I think we are sort of past the point of no return.” Nicky reaches around to press the Blend button, one step closer to sleep.

  
Grinding and smushing noisily, the blender turns the mess into a thick mauve goop. Andrew shifts uncomfortably at every particularly loud crunch of ice, and it would be funny if there wasn't the distinct sound of a door being wrenched open from upstairs. Smoothie thickening into a nice purple mess, Andrew hits the button to make the racket stop. The sudden silence making it significantly easier to hear Aaron stomping across the floor to glare at them from the other side of the kitchen island. A sight that would be more alarming, if not for his light blonde hair sticking up at all angles, and soft black sleeves giving him matching sweater paws to Andrew. Nicky doesn't coo, but it's a close thing. “I wasn't aware we could wake you up without using an airhorne Aaron, sorry, Andrew really wanted a smoothie,” Aaron's face is the picture of stunned concern. “I know, usually his sweet tooth has him subsisting off of Ben  & Jerry's, so for health reasons I had to indulge him.”

  
Nicky swivels to grab three tall glasses from the cupboard, and then pours out the coloured mess as evenly as possible seeing as there is an extra serving to account for. He pointedly ignores Andrew dumping too much sugar to be safe into his glass. Pulling the pitcher out of the blender to soak in the sink, and deciding to abandon it until a more respectable hour. When he finally is done attempting to be responsible, and gets a chance to take a swig of his smoothie. It is clear he's missed something, both his boys seem to be in agreement for once, and are staring at him in annoyance over their glasses. “Uhhhh--”

  
“You're sick,” Aaron interrupts.

  
Cheeks flush and shoulders hunching up, Nicky aggressively does not choke. Forcing the mouthful down his throat, “I have never been so offended, it is 4AM, Aaron. I just wasted several good, sleep-able moments, helping Andy make his first healthy meal ever! And now you want to toss chai at me in this way, how very dare.”

  
Aaron, the traitor, tosses in, “Your face is red as he--”

  
“Because I am mad that you wo--”

  
Andrew interjects, “You keep swaying back and fo--”

  
“You woke me up, I am tired A--”

  
“I have literally heard and seen you cough in the last thirty minu--”

  
“Blasphemous! How berry dare, Andrew!”

  
Aaron snorts. Swallowing the last of his drink, arms falling into a mocking crossed position. “And then there's that! You knew which one of us was which, as soon as I opened the door that day we met.”

  
Clammy hands set his glass down, and Nicky withholds the need to cough, phlegm rattling in his chest, “I don't get what you're trying to say, Aaron. You two are nothing alike.”

  
Quirking an eyebrow, Aaron grins back, “You're right, we are nothing alike. However, I'm still Andrew. Aaron's the one that you made a smoothie with.”

  
The world stops. Nicky's cheeks pale, and knuckles white as he grips the counter. Jerking his head to look at And—Aaron, beside him, and then back at Andrew. Phlegm rises, “holy fu--” and Nicky turns and pukes into the sink.

  
“...so, that was a bit dramatic.”

  
Nicky is so sure that that monotone drawl is Andrew, but busies himself with wiping his face with paper towel, and spitting into the drain. “Well, if you two are quite done, I am going back to bed,” swiping an arm across his eyes. “Anymore early morning projects that you need my assistance for, Aaron? Andrew, you good?” Twin blank looks with shrugs are the only reply, so Nicky heads for the stairs.

  
Reaching the safety of his room, Nicky tears off his sweaty sleep shirt in favour of his favourite soft sweater, tugging on clean briefs and shooting a series of texts to Erik letting him know that he is feeling under the weather. Nicky crawls under the covers. _'The boys haven't sat in the same room that peacefully, since they moved in,'_ at least there is a small upside to this embarrassing mess.

  
When Nicky wakes up later, it is to several _'get well babe'_ texts, a water bottle full of mystery smoothie and a note with a loving _'you are even grosser when you are sick, stop it,'_ which honestly could be from either of his boys. Scoffing and ignoring the sensation of his throat burning, Nicky drags himself out of bed and into the shower. A glance at the clock, adding stress to the act, only a hour and a half until his shift starts. Skipping the luxurious slow routine of his shower, for a quick scrub to get rid of the clinging smell of sick, Nicky gets himself ready for work.

  
Slinging his work bag over his shoulder, and tucking his keys and wallet into it, Nicky heads downstairs. They're both quietly reading through their textbooks, Andrew (?) is in the kitchen watching over a pot on the stove and slogging through what looks like his math homework, and, the one Nicky believes to be Aaron, is tucked in at the bar stool at the counter, reading a social studies handout. If their silence wasn't so unnatural and suspicious, Nicky would be proud. Living with the twins has made Nicky leery of sleeping dogs though, so he clears his throat and doesn't wince at the feeling. Identical heads snap to look at him. "What are you doing up?" Aaron's head cocks to the side.

  
Turning to stir the pot, Andrew hums. "Why the hell do you have your work bag, is my question."

  
Aaron makes an angry noise of agreement, hands waving in frustration. Nicky sighs, "I'm not feeling great, but I am fine to get through a six hour shift. It's fine."

  
"That would be a trick, wouldn't it?" Andrew muses, "seeing as we already called you in."

  
Nicky has had the boys for over six months, and all he is sure about is that he doesn't know them at all.

* * *

Long distance is hard, Nicky can confirm. Erik's breath the only discernible sound through the receiver, and then softly. “So....this is what you want?”

  
Eyes drawn shut by a curtain of tears, Nicky runs his hand across his face. Haphazardly scrubbing his snot on his sleeve, “No, I don't 'want this,' why is this what you want?”

  
The line is quiet, static buzzing in his ear, and Nicky waits. The boys won't be up for school for a while longer, and he'll give Erik as long as he can. “I don't know what I want Nik,” Erik voice barely above a whisper, as if by hushing his consonants he can smother the words out of existence. “All I know is waking up without you is inconceivable, and I don't know if I can do this for much longer.” Erik pauses, “Nik, so help me, if you make a Princess Bride reference right no—”

  
“Inconceivable, Schätz! I would nev—”

  
“Süsse, we can't keep doing this.” Erik interrupts. “We've been deflecting, and avoiding this conversation for too long.”

  
Fingers a vice around his phone, Nicky drags a wet breath in. “I can't come home Er, you know that.”

  
He doesn't respond right away, quiet but for his muffled sobs, and it's made all the worse the distance. Nicky can just picture, Erik sitting up in their bed. Afternoon light casting gentle shadows across the room, rumpled sheets his only company. Jaw clenching and unclenching, an unrelenting battle of gathering tension. Nicky's fingers itch, the urge to smooth his fingers across that worried line, an impossible want builds in his throat. The crushing desire to be in bed beside him, to have bought that ring, to be married to him, and then the sound of one of his boys dropping something in the shower upstairs.

  
“I wouldn't ask you to,” Erik sighs. “But, somedays I wish I could.”

  
Glancing quickly at the stairs to confirm, he's still alone, Nicky breathes. “...somedays I wish you could too.”

  
Finally, “I can't do the distance, Nik. I love you so much, but you're there, and I'm here...and it's not enough.”

  
The hiss of the shower shutting off upstairs, Erik continues. “Dinner out with our friends, visiting my parents for the weekend, sleeping in our bed; there isn't a single place I'm free of you. It's too much, Nik,” he pauses, and then softly, “it's not enough.”

  
The ruckus upstairs, as the twins start thundering around their rooms, isn't half as deafening as the dial tone.

* * *

Nicky has been buzzing all morning, and not in the usual sense. By the time Aaron has sat down at the table, and squinted at the coffee pot; Nicky has run through three conversation topics and plopped a smoothie and a dubious looking omelet in front of him. It's exhausting to watch. “--oday is the day you have that math test, yeah? Do you feel rea—Good morning, Andrew!” Pressing a probably over-sweetened cup of coffee into Andrew's bubble, Nicky gabs. “I talked to my boss by the way, if you two want to make a couple bucks, he has a couple spots available. He just needs to know by the weekend, so think—Andrew, you have a doctor's appointment this weekend, to get your stitches out.”

  
He keeps running his sentences together, uncaring if the thought has been finished or not, just hurrying through mindlessly. It's weird, even Andrew looks perturbed...or as close as he ever gets. Their cousin doesn't seem to even notice that they're paying attention, fluttering hands, like he's trying to take flight on gestures alone. Andrew's interest seems to have already waned, now preoccupied with making the biggest mess out of his pancakes, before eating them loudly. Aaron grunts, and waits for Nicky's gaze to meet his. “How many cups of coffee, have you had this morning?” Nicky's head tilts to the left, as if a new angle will clarify Aaron's question. Aaron slurps from his smoothie, and then continues. “You're bouncing off the fucking walls.”

  
“I haven't had any coffee,” Nicky chimes.

  
Abruptly, Andrew scuffs his chair back. Rising, and shrugging into his jacket, muttering an “outside in five,” as he digs for his smokes in the pockets. Front door slamming carelessly, Aaron inhales what's left of his breakfast, and assembles his schoolwork.

* * *

The day gets progressively worse after breakfast. Aaron's homeroom teacher sending him to the office, for failing to respond when he had called on Aaron. Attending was apparently not good enough, Mr. Winsel wanted his pleasant participation as well. _'Shut up, sit still, listen properly, speak when I want you to,'_ the list was never-ending, Aaron hated the days he actually showed up for his classes. If Nicky hadn't been so off at breakfast, Aaron would have tried to wheedle another stay-home day out of him. Today at least, the idea of spending time at home rather than at school was, for the first time, not preferable. Naturally it follows that, today was the day he was being sent home early.

  
Idly picking at loose threads on his chair, Andrew is already in the office when Aaron walks in. It's barely ten am, and they're both in shit already, _'Nicky's gonna be pissed as fuck.'_ Settling himself across from his twin, Aaron tries not to mirror him by pulling at his deteriorating chair. His cousin's arrival couldn't have taken longer than twenty minutes, but Aaron spends the entire time in agony. Andrew is being impertinent; incapable of deciding if he wants to antagonize or interrogate Aaron, snarling comments on the coattails of bored questions.

  
When Nicky finally walks in, face a weak imitation of disappointment, Aaron almost laughs. Nicky's shoulders are back and he's wearing a button up shirt, he actually looks like a respectable guardian, and he potentially could have made a passable impression, if he hadn't have met their principal far too many times for it only being the third month of the school year.

  
He checks in at the desk, barely sparing them a glance as he's ushered into the principal's office. They've done this enough for Aaron to know it'll be about ten minutes, maybe fifteen if Andrew really stepped out of line, before they'll be asked to join Nicky. It's unclear what is usually discussed, but today must be an outlier, because Nicky's barely in the office for five minutes before he's storming out, their principal, Mrs. Crighton, trailing after him. A huffing noise comes from Andrew, who looks amused? Brows quirked and attention as captive as it ever is, he's watching Nicky demand the paperwork to sign them out of school for the rest of the week. Mrs. Crighton reaches for Nicky's arm, as if to stop him from signing the papers. “This is homophobic!” Nicky shrieks.

  
“Oh, for fucks sake,” Aaron mutters.

  
Mrs. Crighton is a picture of a horror, “in what way is th--”

  
“I'm gay and you're inconveniencing me,” Nicky delivers, turning to look at her with all the power of a PR nightmare waiting to happen.

  
Andrew makes a gargling noise, and proceeds to not acknowledge it when Aaron glances over. Nicky is way too soft usually—it's one of the few things they agree on, that and the silent agreement that nothing is going to ever get a chance to change that...but watching as he undoes the buttons to push his sleeves up, revealing several more inches of brown skin, and making uncomfortable eye contact with their principal it is hard to remember.  
Silence reigns for several beats, and then her shoulders crumpling in defeat, “the rest of the week it is.”

  
“Wonderful! We'll see how they feel on Friday, but most likely they'll be back come Monday,” Nicky titters.

  
Finishing what Aaron thinks is the final signature, Nicky closes the paper package dramatically. Waving his fingers at the faculty, and tossing a “Twinyards, let's go,” at them, he walks out. Andrew shrugs on his backpack, grunting in agreement when Aaron grumbles about the nickname.

  
Reaching the parking lot, Aaron resists the urge to yell. Standing beside their car, Nicky is tearing off his professional-looking shirt to reveal a fashion monstrosity beneath. It's not bad from behind, just a plain white tee, it's the front that is humiliating, reading, in an offensive shade of chartreuse, _'say hey if you're gay.'_

  
“Hey, you two!” Nicky chirps, behind Aaron, Andrew starts coughing on his cigarette, ears and neck flushed a bright pink.

  
Yanking open the back door, Aaron all but throws himself into the car. Door muffling the bored sounding, “hey, Nicky,” as Andrew snatches the keys from Nicky's fingers.

* * *

It's been an awful day, and it's barely eleven. He'd been interrupted while grocery shopping, _'have to go get that done after the boys are home,'_ and that windbag in a pantsuit, Mrs. Crighton suggesting he put the boys in therapy, “before they're beyond help,” and suggesting that Nicky look into older relatives who could perhaps “reign the boys in better,” and Erik. Appreciating Andrew's driving for the first time, as Nicky gets jolted from his thoughts by the near miss of a red sedan. Aaron's angry cursing in his ear, _'less appreciated.'_ Nicky could cry when they pull into the driveway, instead chiming an “Arrive alive!”

  
Neither Aaron nor Andrew bother addressing his joke, but they don't scorn it, which is the equivalent to roaring laughter in Minyard. Ignoring the building panic in his throat, Nicky holds out his hand for the keys, “I have to go grocery shopping,” keys drop.

 

“You have your house keys?”

  
Aaron answers by unlocking the front door, and saying “No.”

 

Mentally counting to ten, Nicky reminds himself that this is worth Erik, this is worth anything he has to offer. The door slams wordlessly behind the twins, Nicky tries to believe it.

* * *

Aaron doesn't have a lot of childhood memories of Nicky, just the occasional appearances at Thanksgivings or Christmases over the years, and for all of Nicky's effort they haven't grown close. However, watching him lay in the hospital bed, is more disconcerting than Aaron would have guessed. Nicky looks like hell too; nose broke, a black eye, mild concussion. And it would have been worse if Andrew hadn't stepped in.

  
The first six hours were rough, Andrew was carted off to police holding, and somehow between the club and the hospital Nicky fell unconscious. Looking at his cousin now though, that had been preferable. Nicky keeps whimpering “Er,” over and over again. Eyes, though closed in near continuous fluttering, as if searching in the dark of his eyelids for a boy that is an ocean away, ignorant of the current events. It is exhausting, not least of which because of how close it sounds to “Aar.” Aaron tries hard to believe his cousin is begging for his fiance and not for him.

 

The timer on Nicky's phone flicks to 30 seconds, finally. Aaron tried too many passwords and has been locked out for just shy of fifteen minutes. Mentally running through his list of failed attempts, lest he wind up screwed, 8 failed attempts kicks you out, 10 erases the entire phone.

  * 3-7-4-5 ERIK
  * 1-2-3-1 ERIK AND NICKY'S ANNIVERSARY
  * 0-5-23 NICKY'S BIRTHDAY
  * 0-7-28 ERIK'S BIRTHDAY
  * 7-7-7-7 NICKY'S FAVOURITE NUMBER
  * 3-4-2-5 DICK/NICKY'S PIN FOR BOTH HIS CREDIT AND DEBIT CARD
  * 0-0-0-0 NO REASON JUST NICKY IS DUMB ENOUGH
  * 0-8-1-7 THE DAY NICKY BECAME THEIR GUARDIAN



Aaron honestly has only one guess left, and he isn't sure what will be worse, if he is wrong or if he is right. If he is wrong, he is locked out of the phone and screwed until Nicky is properly awake, if he is right, he has to live with knowing this repulsive human embodiment of heartfelt goo.

  
The timer hits zero.

  
Groaning, he wipes his sweaty palms on the thighs of his jeans, typing 1-1-0-4 before he can overthink it.

  
For fuck's sake, his cousin is actually the worst, squeezing the phone tight lest he huck the device at the wall and be back to square one. Huffing a breathe, Aaron navigates through the contacts for his goal. It takes four peruses, because Nicky apparently is incapable of listing Erik under Erik Klose, opting instead for an embarrassing amount of emoji's, most of which are eggplants and hearts.

  
Shit, Aaron hadn't actually thought this far ahead. He has to call Erik, he knows that. Andrew is in holding, and honestly even if he wasn't he would be more likely to break the phone than actually dial and deal, and Nicky is out for the count for who knows how long. And Erik deserves to at least know what is going on.

  
Clicking the phone icon, and raising it to his ear. Aaron hopes it's too late in Germany, and that he can just leave a voicemail. It's not a secret that him and Erik do not get a long, not for a lack of Nicky trying. All but dragging the twins in front of the laptop when he skypes the boy, an activity that has dwindled over the last few months, Aaron can only hope it means that Nicky is socially aware enough to notice that Erik and Aaron dislike eachother, and Andrew doesn't care about anyone, let alone some stranger an ocean away. “Hallo?” An accented sleep rough voice sounds across the line, damn it all.

  
“Erik, Ich entschuldige mich, deinen Schlaf zu stören.“ Erik, I apologize to disturb your sleep.

  
The line is quiet, and then, “Du bist nicht Nicky, welcher bist Du?” You are not Nicky, which one are you?

  
Ignoring the creeping sensation, Aaron continues. “Aaron. Es war ein zwischenfall, Nicky ist im Krankenhaus.” There was an incident, Nicky's in the hospital.

  
“Your German accent is atrocious. What did you say about Nicholas?”

  
“He's in the hospital, he was attac--”

  
“Nicky was attacked?! Is he alright, how did this happen?”

  
Aaron grimaces, he isn't completely clear on all of the politics in his cousin's relationship, usually just tuning out when Nicky begins to talk about Erik. “Well, Nicky, he was with someone in the parking lot, and some men saw...and it was pretty clear how Nicky swings, off of how they caught him. It was bad, Andrew had to step in.”

  
“And now? Nicky, how is he?”

  
Aaron turns to look at his cousin, he's fallen quiet no longer crying out. He looks like he has managed to fall asleep, probably due to the morphine, Aaron's arm itches. He looks away. “He'll be fine, got himself some bruises and a mild concussion.”

  
“The men, you mentioned,” Erik lets it hang unfinished.

  
Kicking his shoe against the wall, leaving a dark scuff on the paint, “Andrew damn near killed all of them, he is in holding at the station.”

  
Erik sighs, “Good...and Andrew, he is alright?”

  
“As unhinged as ever, but no broken bones.”

  
“How long did the doctor say Nicky would be unconscious?”

  
Startled, Aaron checks the phone to be sure they aren't video chatting accidentally, “How did you?”

  
“Schatz, would not have let you call me, if he had been awake.” Aaron's brows furrow in confusion, “Ask him to call me, when he feels up to it.”  
Erik hangs up.

  
What the fuck. Aaron is relieved that he won't have to actually meet Erik, but the way Nicky talks about the man, Aaron hadn't even considered an outcome that didn't end with the German not on the next plane.  
Nicky's phone buzzes, six times in a row, so sequential Aaron mistakes it for a phone call. (6) Unread Messages from Erik, he locks it and leaves them for Nicky to deal with. He has no idea what is going on with Nicky and his German, but his shallow foray into the relationship has been quite deep enough.

* * *

Nicky's teeth have never been particularly adept at biting his tongue. The reflex lagged, often occuring moments after the words that should have been bitten off had been spoken. It's why when he accidentally confesses to Neil in a 7-11, on a late night ice cream run, he really has no business being surprised. The scars on Neil's cheeks are pulled tight, and he stares gobsmacked at Nicky. The urge to elaborate rushes up like bile, until Nicky is spitting thoughts wetly in the parking lot. Neil's hand a solid weight on his arm, “I just really think I fucked up, Neil. I had the chance to make things right, between them, and I didn't.”

  
The fingers tighten around his bicep, but Neil lets him go on. “Shit, I have my issues with therapy, and counselling, but I should have gotten the boys seeing someone, earlier than Betsy, before that mess outside the club.” Nicky's phone vibrates in his pocket, “It couldn't have hurt, maybe they wouldn't have gotten this bad...or maybe they would have, but at least I would have tried. Neil, what if my probelms with this shit, are the reason they turned out this way. What if I did this to them?”

  
Neil looks sick, clearly considering what he should say, and then his phone rings. Andrew, wondering where his ice cream is. By the time he is done convincing Andrew that they are on their way, Nicky is already sitting in the passenger seat of the car prattling to Erik about his continued suffering in regards to Kevin. Lighting a cigarette, Neil ducks behind the wheel.

  
The drive is a continuous blur of Nicky's enthused German speech, cooing about how proud he is of Erik, grumbling about Andrew's refusal to essentially everything he suggests, chirping about how he had bought Neil a bright orange windbreaker—so he'd be easier to spot from a distance. Erik doesn't seem to contribute much, just replying when asked a direct question. Neil hasn't dealt with him enough to know him well, but he seems to be a listener, unlike Nicky. Call ending as they arrive outside Fox Tower.

  
“I don't think you fucked them up, Nicky.” Staring imploringly at the backliner, “..and if it's any consolation, Andrew would have gotten his way—if he or Aaron had wanted to go, he would have made it happen.”

  
Nicky makes a dismissive motion with his hand, as he follows Neil into the elevator. The moment is over, they're back in the real world now, not in late night liminal spaces, where Nicky seems like someone else, someone Neil feels he has no business pretending to know.

* * *

The next morning Andrew has him flush against the kitchen fridge, forearm across Nicky's chest, knife pressed against his ribs. Drawing in shallow breaths, Nicky shakes in startled confusion, “And—Andrew, wha—”

  
His cousin's face is thunderous, if it wasn't for the thickness of his arms and thighs, Nicky would almost believe it was Aaron. It's been years since that mistake, and it's far more likely he has just pissed Andrew off, somehow. Punctuating each word with a press of his blade, “How. Dare. You.”

 

A strangled whimper escapes, and like a flood after it, “Andrew, I—I don't kn—I'm really sorry, whatever this is about?! I'm sorr—”

  
“You're 'sorry'?” Andrew's arm stutters against Nicky's chest, before resuming pressure. “Get this through your head, dumbass. I'm only saying this once.”

  
Nodding quickly, Nicky holds eye contact. Andrew stares back, as if searching for something, Nicky hopes he see's whatever he's looking for—and not the fact that Nicky is scared witless. Voice deep and severe, “Never regret saying ' _no_ ,' especially to me.”

  
Fuck. Of course, out of both of his cousins, Andrew is probably the one that would make the connection between Nicky's relationship with therapy and that year at camp. Panic sitting heavy in his gut, Nicky blurts, “It wasn't about me though, and I wouldn't have been the one going, it would have been you two. And it might've ev—”

  
“I said listen, dumbass,” arm pressing down hard. “I wouldn't have gone. And if I had wanted to, you wouldn't have been able to stop me.”

  
In Nicky's chest something builds, a thousand swallowed thoughts bloated from years of rotting below his airway, threatening to rupture at the slightest touch. “But Aaron, h--”

  
“I have never once accused you of being smart, but are you actually this thoughtless,” Andrew intones. “Aaron was high half the time, and a piece of shit all of the time. He was incapable of sobering up for class most days, and you were spineless enough not to force him to go anyway.”

  
Beneath his ribs something snaps, Nicky doesn't wish that Andrew got careless with his grip. “Yeah, his mom croaked, it's real sad, boo fucking hoo. He's going to be graduating this year; good marks, clean, happy or as close as that shithead has the capacity to be, and you actually think that you fucked us up, by what? Not making us go talk to someone behind a desk who pretends to care for 60 minutes a week? Do you think we were scared of you? Nicky, you were a shit guardian in a lot of ways, but neither of us were afraid of you.”

  
Andrew steps back, knife disappearing into his wristband, seemingly shrinking in size now as he leans against the kitchen counter. Blonde hair mussed, as if Neil has been there recently. “...and you?”

  
Stress gathers in his cousin's forearms, squeezing the counter, as he stares blankly. “What about me, Nicky?”

  
“...whatever it is with Neil, you're happy right?”

  
Nostrils flaring, Andrew spits, “This isn't about Neil and I, it's about you. Are you? And if you aren't, why not? Fuck, call Erik, fly to Stuttgart, go get married, do something Nicky. Because this clearly isn't enough for you.” Tapping the bottom of his pack of smokes and starting for the door, Andrew pauses, “For whatever it's worth, I will probably hate Neil until long after we are both in the ground, and I think I am learning to be okay with that. So, just go, Aaron and I, we're good.”

* * *

For all of Andrew's sudden advocacy for Nicky to dropout and run off to Germany, semester only has a couple more weeks left, and Nicky is determined to stick it out. The shrinking window of time remaining with the foxes, with the twins, has Nicky low. Greedily snagging any extra hours available, hoarding moments like he's already an old man talking about glory days and friends long gone. The remaining time though is tense, filled with the stress of exams and encroaching departures.

  
Glancing across the table they've set up camp at, Aaron has his head buried in a textbook that potentially weighs more than him, rough draft of his final paper spread out in front of him. Pen marks dot his cheeks, from inattentive fidgeting over the last hours, and his travel mug is long empty, it's either time to give in or get more caffeine. Aaron clears his throat loudly, and Nicky just knows. Aaron has taken longer—or just hasn't heard about it right away, but he's breaching it now. If Nicky didn't feel so ambushed, he'd be pleased that the twins have spoken in some form, even if it's just to expose some raw part of their cousin. But listening to Aaron emphatically argue how for all of Nicky's legal guardianship status, he _“wasn't enough of a parental figure”_ to stop them from seeking that out if they had wanted to, it is hard to muster any glee at the mild victory of their interaction.

  
Nicky tries hard not to feel the pain beneath ribs more acutely than if Andrew had actually stabbed him. Instead, he just humms quietly an agreement, and sets about explaining the issues with Aaron's closing paragraph as quickly as possible so he can excuse himself to the bathroom and call Erik.

  
Erik doesn't answer, it's the middle of the work day in Germany, but awkwardly timed enough it isn't his lunch hour. So Nicky returns, ignoring the looks Aaron keeps shooting him in favour of dissecting his paper. By the time he has finished helping Aaron, the sun is peaking above the horizon.

  
He takes his time packing up, because for all of Nicky's need to walk away, he's always had a hard time tearing himself away from the twins. Constantly paranoid that whenever he does, they'll genuinely believe he's not coming back—or the darker, quieter option that he tries to not let his mind drift to, that he would walk away and just keep walking. Until he was with Erik, until he was too far to come back, until he'd broken whatever connection with the boys that he'd built so slowly, so irreparably so that he would be forced to just never come back.

  
Taking advantage of Aaron's sluggishness and fatigue, he pulls his cousin into a loose embrace. “It'll be okay, it'll turn out fine, just wait and see.”

  
“....Nicky?”

  
“Your paper, it'll turn out fine.”

  
Bleary eyes squint at him, “..are you? Nicky, are you tr--”

  
“Come on, short stack, we need sleep before practice later,” slinging both their packs over his shoulder, Nicky starts towards the elevator.

  
Maybe when he's in Stuttgart, it will hurt less that neither of his cousins seem to know him at all.

 


End file.
